Unit, like Death, for Whom?
True, like the Tomb,
Who tells no secret
Told to Him —
The Grave is strict —
Tickets admit
Just two — the Bearer —
And the Borne —
And seat — just One —
The Living — tell —
The Dying — but a Syllable —
The Coy Dead — None —
No Chatter — here — no tea —
So Babbler, and Bohea — stay there —
But Gravity — and Expectation — and Fear —
A tremor just, that All’s not sure.

Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in —
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist —
Hist! Whist! I’d come!

Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in —
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist —
Hist! Whist! I’d come!